


The Many Unpredictable Curses of Jaskier

by merthurlocked



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Cursed Jaskier | Dandelion, Elf Jaskier | Dandelion, I Don't Even Know, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Light Angst, M/M, Siren Jaskier | Dandelion, Vampire Jaskier | Dandelion, and when i say every creature only a few because my fingers hurt from all this typping, basically jaskier is cursed and he becomes every creature, cute moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:33:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23010271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merthurlocked/pseuds/merthurlocked
Summary: Okay so we have all spoken and made countless headcanons and fics on specific monster/Immortal Jaskier, but what if,and here me out here,what if he is all of them?Or the one where somebody that Jaskier pisses off decides to get their revenge by cursing Jaskier to become a different creature/monster every day.Geralt is confused, then he is angry then he is turned on and then chaos ensues.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 34
Kudos: 698





	The Many Unpredictable Curses of Jaskier

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I am doing, or how to write but these two boys keep giving me idea after idea, so have some Geraskier fun.
> 
> Un-betaed as usual, so any and all mistakes are mine,
> 
> Enjoy :)

They first notice something not quite right with Jaskier, when one morning Jaskier is trailing _ahead_ of Geralt and Roach for once, picking up various mushrooms and herbs and edible flowers as he spots them on their path. 

Which is not so odd, but his enthusiasm for picking them and for picking them so early in the morning _is odd_. Usually, he will huff and puff after Geralt makes another barbed comment at his lack of contribution to that night's dinner, and Jaskier will get up abruptly from his lounging position on the forest floor and mutter under his breath something scathing at Geralt’s back. Before stomping around their make-shift campsite, looking for edible fungi and berries, grabbing them roughly and thrusting them into Geralt’s awaiting hands. “There you are your, highness” and he will bow mockingly at him before collapsing back into his lazy sprawl on the ground, and watch Geralt cook them their dinner.

But that’s not the only thing off about him, Geralt has also noticed that Jaskier’s ears seem to be poking out beneath his short fluffy hair, slightly pointer than usual, and when Geralt calls for the bard's attention, he stops Roach dead in her tracks, staring...no _gawking,_ at him. 

Because the Jaskier that has turned around is _not_ his Jaskier. It certainly looks like him, smells like him even, but there is now an air about him, an aura that radiates off him. His features are softer almost, his skin smoother, his hair shinier, his crystal clear blue eyes, _which have always been a thing of beauty_ , now appear to be sparkling and glistening in the early morning sunlight. 

Jaskier is captivating, _and okay Geralt knows this bard, especially when he sings and performs is alluring, he knows Jaskier has always been attractive, but this is just different._ Geralt is transfixed on him, cannot seem to remove his eyes off him. 

“...yes Geralt, what is it?” and his voice is even different, sweet-sounding and lilting. 

Geralt raises an eyebrow. “You can hear yourself right?” Jaskier frowns in confusion, scrunches up his features rather adorably, opens his mouth to speak again,

“What an odd question Geralt, I wasn’t talking or humming or singing before you broke the silence. I know you like your mornings to be quiet so I, ever acquiescing to your demands, did not interrupt your silence...I mean you looked moodier than usual and I didn’t want my head chopped off by your sword and…” Jaskier frowned again, surprised that Geralt had let him ramble on this much without so much a hum or hmm in passing comment, “What is it? Why are you staring at me like that?”.

At this Geralt shakes his head, huffs, and grunts out a “You could have told me you know” with maybe a fraction of the hurt he is feeling creeping out in his voice. He looks away from Jaskier’s still frowning face, not quite wanting to see the lies and excuses about to come from the bard's mouth.

“Told you what Geralt? What have I _not_ told you?”, Jaskier gets a ‘hmph’ in response and starts following Geralt once again as he sets Roach off back down the forests beaten tracks. “ _Geralt!_ You can’t just call me out on something and then not tell me what it is I am being called out on.” He exclaims louder.

Another sigh, another grunt, before “You could have told me about the Glamour, I wouldn’t have cared if you were not human, you didn’t need to _lie_ to me about your...your _ancestry!”_ he all but yells the last part.

Jaskier stills and splutters out “Lie? To you? Glamour? What glamour? And what do you mean ‘not human’? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he cannot believe the words that are coming from his witcher’s mouth. 

Worry washes over Jaskier in an instant, thoughts turning darker as he imagines Geralt being ill. _He thinks he_ must _be ill, or maybe in last night’s hunt, the hit to his head was a lot worse than what it had looked like from the sidelines of where Jaskier had been watching._

Geralt turns the horse to face Jaskier, and the bard steps back at the now thunderous expression on his face. “You know damn well what I mean _Jaskier!_ The glamour that you have been superbly wearing until now? It’s gone, and in its place, I can see the real you behind it, pointy ears and _all_ ” he spits out, his body still raging, his hands strained holding onto Roach’s reins too tightly.

Then all at once, he deflates. His shoulders slump inwards and his head falls to rest closer to his chin, and the next words out of his mouth sound sad and subdued, “Why didn’t you say anything? Did you really think I would judge you? Leave you?” he pauses, looks up at Jaskier, who really doesn’t know what to do with the defeated look on Geralt's face, and then continues “I don’t care that you are an Elf Jask” he says the last bit looking imploringly into the bards eyes, wishing him to know how true his words are.

Jaskier stares. Stares at this man in front of him, completely and utterly baffled. _Because what the hell is Geralt talking about? Him an Elf? Is he mad? He must be going insane._ “Geralt I know it might be confusing when you hear a human speak elder, must be right upsetting to realise your view on humans being too dumb to know other languages is _wrong_ , but I beg of you to stop and really take in what you are saying. And to listen to me as I say, _I,_ Julian Alfred Pankratz, _am not,_ never have been and most likely never will be, _of Elven descent_.” he finishes this with a flutter of hand movement, further emphasising his words.

The witcher simply raises another eyebrow and does not look the least bit impressed with Jaskier’s theatrics. “Jaskier, it is clear to me right now that you are an elf or at least have elven blood in you. Your ears are pointing, your overall appearance looks healthier and more alluring and you have this magic aura about you” Geralt does not miss the pleased smile the bard sports at his mention of him having an allure to him, but he cannot focus on that right now. Instead, he watches as Jaskier shakes his head, in obvious disagreement

“Geralt, I swear to you I am not an elf...I think I would know if I were. And I am not lying to you, I could never do that to you.” He says the latter in a slightly smaller voice, not really sure he wants Geralt to know just how much the man means to him, just how much he has affected him. 

“Hmm” another grunt but then “...okay, I believe you.” Jaskier smiles at that, showing clear white pearl teeth, teeth that seem to be whiter and more round than usual. “Right now though, you are presenting as an Elf and I think it’s time we go seek a Mage’s counsel.” At that, he turns his horse back around to face the path once again and sets off at a quicker pace than before. Heading towards the nearest town that he knows will have some kind of witch in it.

Jaskier hurries after him, reaches to touch his ears, and, _oh okay he is right, they are rather pointy_ , and he feels panic surge through him, feels it pour into his veins, because Geralt is right, and _shit did he turn into an elf overnight?_ He can’t think properly and he can’t talk properly. His breath is coming too fast and his chest has become too tight. _What is going on? He needs answers!_

“Come on Jaskier, it’ll be fine I promise, but we’ve got to move. The nearest town is a day and a halves ride away” and _shit okay, he’s coming, don’t worry Geralt, just having a minor breakdown over here whilst you ride off on your horse all-knowing and full of purpose and shit._ But Geralt’s voice was soft and the look directed at him even softer, and Jaskier feels some of the panic slip away as he watches Geralt slow his pace down just a little, in order for the bard’s legs to catch up.

They travel for as far and as fast as they can, but they have to eventually come to a stop when their natural source of sunlight has dimmed so much they can barely see the road. They set up camp, and Jaskier sits in a daze on the mossy ground, gaze hypnotized by Geralt’s hands stirring the contents of their pot. _Rabbit stew he thinks_ . _Again,_ his brain helpfully adds.

And he continues to stare, to sit and to watch because he is exhausted from the days travel. His voice is exhausted from answering all of Geralt’s questions and his mind is exhausted from all the leaps and somersaults he has made it do. All in order to try and figure out exactly _who_ he has pissed off and exactly _what_ he has done to piss them off this bad. 

His body hurts, and his brain hurts. And they have got nowhere near to an answer. 

A bowl of stew is pushed into his lap as another body joins him on the floor. “Come on, eat this. We’ll get some sleep and set off early tomorrow. We should make it to the mage in good time” Geralt’s thighs warm his own, and he reaches out for his bowl of food. Spoons some into his mouth, chewing on the food slowly before leaning ever so slightly into Geralt’s space. He leans his head against Geralt’s shoulder, and the witcher lets him, reaches his own hand around the bard, pulls him in closer. Before grabbing his own spoon and eating his from his own bowl of stew.

They sit in silence for a while. Allowing the gentle sparks and pops of the fire to lull them into a calm and relaxed state. Jaskier is still scared of course, still worried about what is happening to him. But being so close to Geralt, he allows himself to calm down. Allows himself not to worry so much, as he knows that if there is one person who can solve it, it’s Geralt.

That night he curls up on his bedroll, and thanks the heavens that Geralt places his own directly next to Jaskier. He knows it’s more out of a sense of protection, something to appease the witcher’s own mind. A consequence of the day's events. But he can’t help smiling at the gesture, as he snuggles further under his blanket, edging his back closer to Geralt's own body.

The witcher looks at the bard, makes sure he is safe and warm, before lying beside him. He notices his movement had caused the edge of the blanket to fall off of Jaskier’s shoulder, and so he reaches out to straighten it, and when he pulls his hand back he decides it won’t harm anyone if he leaves it resting over Jaskier’s stomach. After all, he is only making sure _no one else_ can come to get Jaskier in their sleep. Making sure that Jaskier is tucked up beside him so he has better control at keeping the bard safe if anyone dares to threaten them.

When Jaskier wakes the next morning, he watches Geralt hurriedly gather up their things, tying them back onto Roach’s saddle, watches him maneuver quickly and smoothly, grabbing up his swords and slinging them onto his back. 

“Come on, we must hurry, if we leave now, we may make it to the town before mid-day” Geralt rushes out, turning his back on the bard as he double-checks the fastenings on his horse. Jaskier sighs and sits up, but before he stands completely to follow in Geralt’s footsteps, he reaches up towards his head and goes to feel his unusual ears.

He gasps.

Geralt turns around at this and glances down at Jaskier in concern. When he notices the bard touching his ears, he grunts and shakes his head. _Did he really forget so quickly?_

“Er Geralt, I don’t know how to tell you this without sounding mad, but I think...I think the pointiness of my ears has gone” he gets up at this and runs towards Geralt, removing his hands from his ears, rushes to grab Geralt’s own hand and replaces them there. “Can you feel it too? Please tell me they aren’t pointy? Tell me I’m not going mad please?”.

Geralt is staring dumbfounded at his bard, hand curled around the man’s ear, gently stroking the top of it. _He is right, the points have gone._ And it’s not the only thing. The magical aura he appeared to have yesterday has now disappeared. Dissipated into thin air. The alluring quality to the bard is gone too. He is still attractive of course, still a beauty to behold, but that added unnatural irresistibleness has vanished.

“You’re right. The points have gone” and it’s at this point Geralt realises he is still very much stroking Jaskier’s ear, so he coughs and takes a step back, misses the small look of disappointment on the bards face. “Everything else elf-like has gone too” he adds, rather confused by this turn of events.

“Right well...right then..that’s good is it not? Means I am fine, means we don’t need to search for a mage? We can find your next contract instead, right?” Jaskier turns to grab his own things from off the floor, grabs his lute and walks towards where Roach is waiting patiently for them. 

Geralt is shocked. _How can he be taking this so well?_ _I mean this is truly another level to how dumb Jaskier can be._ “No, it’s not alright Jaskier. Someone or something had obviously cursed you or done something for you to appear like an elf for a day. We need to go find someone to check you over for any curses or any other lingering magic.” he huffs this out at the bard, shaking his head as he grabs hold of Roach’s reins and pulls himself up on to the horse. Then he reaches down for Jaskier’s hand, waiting for the man to grasp it so he can pull him up alongside him. 

Jaskier stares at the outstretched hand in puzzlement, watches it as its owner waggles the fingers attached to it, “Well come on. We don’t have all day”. Jaskier takes one last glance at the hand, glances up at Geralt’s face, confirming for himself that he is not reading this wrong, before grasping said hand and allowing himself to be pulled up and seated behind him.

“Okay first I turn into an elf, next I wake up and suddenly I am no longer an elf. And now you offer out a hand to let me sit behind you on your horse. A horse at one point you wouldn't even allow me to pet. My days just keep getting weirder and weirder”.

“Don’t get used to it” is grunted back at him, before Geralt urges Roach on.

He feels the horse move under him, and he tenses, gripping quickly onto Geralt’s waist, securing himself there. _This was going to be a long ride._

“Well that was useless was it not?” Jaskier says as he watches Geralt shove at the gate that’ll lead them back onto the streets, and back towards where he had left Roach. Geralt didn’t so much as ‘hmm’ back at him in response. Instead, they walked in silence down the worn path, and Jaskier’s shoulders began to relax the further he got away from the Mage’s house.

It had been absolutely, wonderfully pointless, this whole little excursion the witcher and his bard had been on. But Geralt had insisted, and now he was angry because the Mage had implied in no uncertain terms, that they were rather stupid for thinking Jaskier an elf, and for thinking anything more permanent and long-lasting had been cast on him. The mage had simply told them, that _no, Jaskier was not cursed,_ that, _no he did not have elven blood currently running through his veins,_ that he was in fact _undeniably human_ , the poor thing. 

Jaskier had breathed a sigh of relief and was happy to get out of the house as fast as possible. To get back to the simple life of being on the road alongside Geralt. Ready to get back to writing down all the events and stories from his witchers monster hunts, ready to construct them into new songs and perform them in local taverns. 

Geralt was not so subtly seething. He hadn’t liked how the mage had spoken to him, hadn’t liked the condescending tone she had taken with him. Hadn’t liked the mage at all. Especially because she had no answers as to why Jaskier had appeared as an elf for a day. He had realised rather quickly that the witch thought them stupid, had thought they were making it up.

He also didn’t like not knowing what was going on. But Jaskier seemed pleased with this turn of events, and he supposed that maybe, it was just a fluke. Just a bit of trailing leftover magic from all the hunts Geralt had been on with Jaskier at his side. Thinks perhaps, Jaskier had drank something he wasn’t supposed to and it had given him side effects. Or maybe he had eaten a magic mushroom that morning, and that had quickly allowed for the sprouting of elven features to take hold. _Why not? Stranger things had happened._

And so he takes a leaf out of his bard's book, puts the past few days events behind him, before following on after Jaskier.

And if he continues to glance at the back of Jaskier’s head, carries on checking for any sign of pointy ears, who can really blame him?

It’s one day later and Geralt is fighting in the murky waters, a nest of drowners. Their skinny, bony slimy green bodies are sinking away every time Geralt lands a blow on them. They move back under the water and another comes forward. It seems to be endless, one after another, after another _after another._ The man who had offered this contract had skimped on the details and now he was suffering for it. 

The nest that Geralt had encountered was far bigger than the one described, the one he was asked to go and destroy. He doesn’t know why exactly, but these particular drowners appeared more volatile and violent than usual. _Maybe Geralt was just tired. Tired from the previous days riding, and the worry he had felt for his bard._

Geralt is not stupid. He knows that he was in trouble. The drowners were gaining on him, managing to get scratches and claw marks onto his skin in every other parry that Geralt did. He was struggling and he didn’t know as of yet what his plan was to get out of it.

Turns out he didn’t need one.

For Jaskier had come bounding down the hill, that Geralt had told him, _told him to stay put on!_ And was opening his mouth before Geralt could so much as turn around and glare at him, but then something most peculiar happened.

Jaskier opened his mouth and instead of the encouraging words so often inflicted upon Geralt in times like these, instead of the “there’s one to your right Geralt” or “watch out, ones coming from behind” or “hit him harder, you’ve got this Geralt", instead of any of that,

Jaskier was singing.

His voice, whilst (most of the time) good, was now mystical to listen to, it was warm and honeyed, and the lyrics he chose to sing were breathtaking and seductive. Geralt’s body swayed in the water, and his mind started to settle and be soothed. The water around him seemed to settle too, and the drowners who he had been fighting moments earlier were now standing, much the same as Geralt, but appeared to be more fixed in position.

And it’s at this that finally gets Geralt to come out of his trance, gets him to shake his body out of the creepy feeling of being bound magically in place.

He looks upon the embankment, at where Jaskier is standing, bright blue doublet open as usual, his chest hair peeking out, but something there also seems to shimmer. Blue and silver seem to glint off the skin that is on show. Glinting and gleaming, and _ahh_ , Geralt think’s it looks more like scales than skin. And the voice that has continued to come out of Jaskier’s mouth, is not the same one that Geralt knows so well. It is different and feels powerful and he can see the effects that it has on all living creatures who listen to it.

Jaskier right now is showing signs of being a Siren.

Not one to look a gift-horse in its mouth however, Geralt sets to work on slicing off each head from the drowners. And it is so much easier when he has them all bound to the lakes floor, courtesy of Jaskier’s singing. He picks off each one and successfully grabs enough of a token to haul back to shore and give it to the damned contractor, who will most _definitely_ be paying Geralt extra for his troubles.

But for now, he has his troublesome bard to see to.

“Jaskier you can stop now” and upon hearing Geralt’s voice, he does exactly that. His mouth snaps shut, and he sags backward, falls down onto the cold dirty floor, and looks beyond exhausted. 

“Thank Melitele for that!” he croaks out, his voice having lost its magical feel now that he was not singing with it. “I have no idea what happened Geralt, but one moment I was panicking, thought you were going to for sure get dragged down into the water by those nasty creatures, and the next my mouth was open and words were pouring out, and I felt this power wash through me and over me, watched as it bound you and those drowners to the ground” his eyes look upon Geralt’s, flitting across his face, searching for any answers he might find.

“That’s a Siren’s power. What you've just done. That’s what Siren’s can do. They use their voices to sing, to lure people and creatures in, and then they usually kill them” Geralt hesitates, before walking across to Jaskier, and kneeling down in front of him, making the other man look up again and stay gazing in his eyes. And Geralt can see the fear is back again, the fear for the unknown, and he feels it too.

_Because something is clearly going on with Jaskier._

It’s the second time in three days for his bard to all of a sudden have these weird new features on his body. These weird new abilities, that are definitely _non-human._ He touches Jaskier’s face gently, brings his thumbs to stroke each cheek, to brush away the couple of tears that have landed there, “There’s something wrong with me isn’t there?” he sobs, shedding more tears.

Geralt’s head comes to lean against Jaskier’s own, and he breaths in the bards scent, inhaling it deeply, and he notices a slight difference, a slight perfumey smell that he knows _isn’t_ Jaskier’s, but he breathes in deeper again and finds at the core there’s still enough of him left there. “Yes”, he lets out reluctantly. Presses his lips to the bard's forehead before moving his head to rest in the crook of his shoulder blade, as his other hand curls around the bard's waist protectively, pulling him against him in a gentle hug. 

The bard falls into it desperately, clutches on tight to Geralt’s ruined soaking wet shirt, grips on hard to the black leather armor and lets out another cry. “What’s going to happen to me?” and Geralt’s heart clenches at the sheer amount of despair to be found in Jaskier’s normally merry voice.

“I’m not sure”, is his rather bleak answer, and he feels Jaskier’s body crumple in even further, and he can’t have that. Can’t have his bard looking and feeling like this. “I’m not sure, but we’re going to find out okay?” and he waits for a response and when he gets none he nudges Jaskier’s head with his own, whispers “Okay?” into the bard's ear and releases his breath when Jaskier nods, albeit, weakly in confirmation.

They're back on the road, traveling to another mage’s house, in the hopes of finding answers to Jaskier’s predicament. Geralt has allowed Jaskier to ride behind him once again, encouraged him to place his hands around Geralt’s firm stomach, even clasping his own hand on top of the bard's solid grip.

It’s strange at first, to be touched like this and to be touched so often by Geralt, but he thinks it must be a true testament to how much he has fucked up because he must have fucked up so bad for Geralt to openly show this much worry and concern. It is nice though, as sad and awful as it sounds. Jaskier is glad to be allowed to touch Geralt so much without fearing for getting his head bitten off. 

So he sits behind Geralt, carefully gripping on tightly to the rather lovely firm feeling chest, leans his head down in the divet of one of the witchers shoulder blades and falls asleep. 

He must be out for the count because the next time Jaskier is awake, it’s too see the early morning sunrise and the sounds of the birds waking up the rest of the forest.

_But it wasn’t just the sun and the birds that woke Jaskier up._

It was also the painful hunger in his stomach, a hunger he has never once felt this badly before. His stomach is squeezed tight, and his throat is burning, as his mind races to tell him he needs food, and he needs it _now._

It’s at this point he realises where exactly his head is situated, nestled comfortably in between Geralt’s shoulder and neck, which is pulsing at him. Roach is still cantering away, with Geralt still very much alive and well, steering her in the right direction. And he must know that Jaskier is awake, what with his witcher sensors and all, but he has not yet broken the silence that has rained down on them.

Jaskier takes in a breath, and immediately regrets it,

Because his hunger aches and claws away at him, and his mouth waters at the smell so close to Jaskier’s own nose. Jaskier has never known someone’s skin on their neck to smell and appeal to him so much before. But it is Geralt’s neck that has Jaskier’s nose currently squished against it, breathing in his heady scent, and Jaskier thinks he can feel Geralt shudder, which only makes Jaskier breathe him in harder.

And, _oh,_ he shouldn’t have done that.

Because Jaskier now has the sudden urge to bite down on the pulse that is flickering, bite and lick and clamp down on the tender looking skin there. He feels himself moving in closer, flicks out his tongue, just _to taste_ the skin there and Geralt lets out a little breathy moan starts to ask “What are you do-” but is cut off when Jaskier opens his mouth wider and two sets of pointy sharp teeth sink into his skin, his lips clamp down on his throat, and Jaskier begins to suck.

He has two glorious seconds where the hunger that had woken him up, the hunger that had clawed away at him, demanded he feed, two seconds where it was abated and pleased before he is being swiftly flung off the back of a horse and falling rather forcefully into the ground.

“What the fuck Geralt?” he shouts, looking up at the figure now looming over him. The witcher does not look too pleased by this turn of events either. Standing above Jaskier, he swipes at his neck and the bard can see now, where two of his teeth had sunk into the soft flesh and left pinprick marks there, and he watches Geralt’s hand come away with blood on them. 

But instead of feeling guilty like he should, _and does,_ the over-riding feeling in his body right now is that all-consuming _hunger_ and he realises now its a hunger for blood.

 _Human_ blood.

In an instant, he feels sick and dirty and disgusting and like a monster, because that is what he is now right? A monster that Geralt is going to have to kill, because it’s one thing being an elf, something that can quite easily find some kind of acceptance in the human world, and it’s another to be a siren, a beast that still looks mostly human, can easily hide the parts that aren’t, but to be a blood-sucking _vampire?_ That’s just not acceptable.

There is no place for him in society, not even by his witcher’s side, because the bloodthirst he has for this man is too strong, too hard to deny, _he wants it_ , he wants to bite his new teeth back into that warm soft supple flesh, wants to taste him again, wants to drain away the delicious blood until his stomach is satisfied.

But he _can’t_ he reminds himself. This is Geralt for Melitele’s sake! This is the man that he loves and just because he craves his blood more than his touch right now, does not mean he does not know how to control himself. He’s had years of controlling his desire to touch the man, so he thinks he can control his sudden urge to drink him.

“I’m...I er I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. It-it won’t happen again I promise” but even as he is saying this, his teeth are in agony, and his throat is burning once again, his eyes are watering as his face scrunches up in pain.

“You can’t promise that” is the reply he gets, and then his nose is breathing in the devastatingly mouthwatering scent that is Geralt as the man moves closer towards him, bending down in front of him. “And I don’t want you to. I have a theory about what’s happening to you now. And I realise we won’t be able to go anywhere further whilst you are in this state… so please drink what you must in order to quench that thirst you are feeling” and Geralt offers him up the same bitten side of his neck to him. Offers it up like a madman.

“Are you mad?” he all but screeches at him, scrambling backward, trying to take his eyes away from the too tempting sight of Geralt on his knees, eyes shut with his head leaning on his shoulder, his neck exposed so beautifully. “Fuck please stop doing that, I don’t think I can hold myself back this much longer” he whimpers out.

“So don’t” and Geralt open’s his eyes to glint at him “I know you won’t go too far, you won’t hurt me Jask, you’ll take what you need and you’ll be fine to travel on the road again”, and he seems so calm about this, so sure that Jaskier moves steadily back towards him.

He reaches out to touch along Geralt’s neck, thumbs over the two little sucker marks he had made earlier, his other hand wraps carefully around the other side of Geralt’s neck, and he leans in again. He smells that divine scent that he can’t seem to rid his nose of, and he licks another patch from the bottom of Geralt’s neck to just under the man’s jawline. Watches as Geralt’s pulse point seems to flicker, as his body shivers slightly at the touch.

Then Jaskier bites down and hums against the skin, as he sucks the delectable blood right out of his witcher's body. He drinks and he drinks and drinks. Guzzling down the juicy thick red substance. He thinks he should be disgusted by what he is doing, _but he is not_. Perhaps once he is of sound mind again he will be, but for now, he can't help but enjoy this moment. He is moaning at the taste, and then he is climbing into Geralt’s lap, pushing his head further into the crook of Geralt's neck. His hands are moving up, moving to tug at the back of the witcher’s hair, moving to cup the man’s jaw and cheeks. 

And then Jaskier is pulling away, moving his face into line with Geralt’s, opening his eyes as he licks his sharp pointy teeth, his belly is full, and Geralt is staring down at Jaskier’s lips as he does this, staring at the little specks of _his_ blood staining those perfectly plump lips. Jaskier can see that Geralt’s eyes are more black than amber at this point, his pupils had grown _so_ wide. And carefully, so as not to spook him, Jaskier leans in closer, moves his lips so that they are a fraction away from his own, and he feels both of their breaths puff out against one another.

Feels heat pool just below his stomach, and now that his stomach has been satisfied it no longer hurts to think about it, he no longer craves after the taste of blood. Instead, he craves something far better. 

He craves the touch of Geralt, craves anything and everything that this man might give him. Wants it badly. Wants this man to _want_ him back. He looks up into Geralt's blown eyes and hopes to the gods that Geralt understands what he is asking, understands that it can’t be him that makes the first move, that it’s got to be Geralt because he already feels like he has taken advantage of this man more than enough for today. 

Geralt understands perfectly, is tuned into Jaskier so well, he knows exactly what his eyes are asking, and damn it does he want to give it to him. So he closes the gap between them. And finally, _finally_ , their lips are touching, crashing down against one another. Lips moving swiftly and messily together, then Jaskier uses his tongue to push in further, and Geralt joins him. Licking into his bard's mouth. And Geralt finds it weird to taste his own blood, finds it weird but is oddly turned on. He can’t get enough of it. Can’t get enough of both of their tastes mixing as one. 

Jaskier pushes against Geralt, pushes him down onto the soil beneath them, climbs on top of him, pressing their chests tightly together. Rubs along him, bucks his hips up and down, earning a breathy moan from the man beneath. He smiles. He does it again, pushes harder, laughs when he gets the same response. Then he is being soundly flipped over onto his back, and Geralt is crowding in around him, nosing his way down the bard's jaw, pressing sweet kisses along it and then his neck, nosing open further the brightly coloured doublet he is always wearing.

“Stop being such a fucking tease” he growls out against the bard's chest.

Jaskier’s head falls back and hits the ground with a thud, but he doesn’t have time to care because Geralt is ripping open the few remaining buttons on his doublet, ripping open the lace of his shirt and sucking down on his little dark pink nipples. Licking and biting them, going from one and then paying the same attention to the other. Jaskier groans out loud, whimpers as Geralt’s hand wander down his chest, wanders dangerously close to exactly where Jaskier wants the hand to be.

Jaskier grabs it before it can start to unbutton his trousers, and makes sure that Geralt is looking into his eyes as he asks, “Are you sure? Are you sure that you are making the right choice here? It’s not me right? Not some weird monster side effect that makes you want to fuck me? You are making this decision in a sound mind right?", and Jaskier prays it’s true, prays Geralt is choosing to do this because he wants to and not because of some fucked up magic that has somehow turned Jaskier into different beings.

Geralt stills his hips and stops his hand from wondering. He leans one elbow on the ground and leans his face into the awaiting hand. He looks down upon Jaskier, looks into his clear blue eyes, and smiles. “I can assure you Jaskier this is all entirely your own well-doing and not because of some weird magic that has somehow got stuck to you.” he pauses before adding “I want to be here with you” and with that, he leans back into Jaskier’s space and claims his lips once again.

The kiss is softer this time, but no less heated. Both of their bodies are pressed firmly to one another, and their hands reach to grasp each other’s hair, pulling on it, forcing their bodies further together. Neither can get enough of the other. And Jaskier thinks he could happily die like this right now. Covered head-to-toe by Geralt’s body, thinks the suffocation would be worth it. He reaches a hand down, to start undoing the witcher's clothing, and Geralt jumps on board with this pretty quickly.

In an instant, both Geralt’s and Jaskier’s trousers are undone and Jaskier is slipping his hand up and under Geralt’s leather black shirt, to feel the man’s chest, and to squeeze the man's side, whilst the other hand reaches down to grip solidly onto Geralt’s thick cock and pump it in one, two, _three_ quick strokes. 

The witcher’s eyes roll backward at the first touch of his bard’s hand on his cock and he lets out a groan, before he knocks Jaskier’s hand away, and grabs the bard's and his own cock in one big hand, gently pulling and stroking on them, squeezing them together delightfully. 

“Oh gods, this feels amazing...tighter, squeeze harder- ahh nghh” Jaskier trails out into soft moans, gets lost in the heat circling them. Geralt grins and bites down onto Jaskier's bottom lip. Nips into his mouth, and gently tongues around the two very sharp teeth currently residing in the bard's mouth. Jaskier groans again surges forward for a messy wet kiss. Geralt’s hand is getting faster now, pumping frantically on the hot hard flesh between them. He swipes his thumbs up over the heads of each cock and uses the precum to wet the slide of his hand. Both of them are groaning now, _panting_ right into each other's mouths. Their chests are pressed hard together, as Geralt’s hand speeds up.

Jaskier scratches his free hand down Geralt’s back, leaving bright red marks all along it. Whilst his other hand clutches the witcher’s bottom, squeezing it, trying to eliminate as little space between their bodies as possible. Then Geralt is moving his face into the juncture between neck and shoulder, and he is biting down and letting go. Long white ropes of come release between them, painting Jaskier's chest in a sticky mess.

Then Jaskier is coming, had gone straight over the edge at watching Geralt lose control like that, and then they are both panting and breathing heavily on each other.

Geralt slumps down and leans slightly off of Jaskier, but still has a leg between his thighs, and half of his chest pressing warmth into the rapidly cooling air on Jaskier’s chest. He wipes his hand in the grass beside them. Bends down to lick at Jaskier's stomach, and gazes keenly at the little shudders and trembles it makes as he does this. Then he lifts up his head to check on Jaskier. He smiles when he sees Jaskier staring right back, mouth open in bliss and he can’t help himself when he leans forward and claims the bard's mouth again in a sweet kiss.

“Tell me we are doing _that_ again, please? Because that was everything, _oh gods_ ” sighs Jaskier after Geralt stops kissing his lips and kisses along his jawline and neck. Mouthing along it, sucking gently on his ear lobe before saying,

“Yes Jaskier, we are definitely doing _that_ again.” and Jaskier sighs out in obvious contentment, his worries seemingly fucked out of him. “But first we need to get you to a mage and figure out why you seem to be flicking from one non-human to the next.”

And just like that Jaskier’s happiness is dulled. _Way to ruin a moment Geralt!_

He pulls a face and leans down to start buttoning up his shirt and fly, helps to button up Geralt's own trousers, before leaning on his side facing Geralt. Both mirroring each other's pose, one elbow on the ground, legs stretched out on the grass, with head resting in hand.

“What exactly do you know about it?” Jaskier asks, intrigued now because Geralt doesn’t seem to be as worried. The undercurrent of concern is still there of course, but there is a certain steadiness to it now, it’s not as panicked as before.

“Well, I’ve noticed that no curse seems to last longer than 24 hours, each time you wake up you seem to be another type of creature or monster or mythical being. You have each of their powers and abilities, but it doesn’t take over from you. You are able to control it to a certain extent, like how you were able to stop yourself from draining me completely of blood. A part of you knew not to kill me. Just like a part of you knew not to entice me completely when you were a siren, your voice affected me, but not like it affected the drowners, and that’s because you made sure it wouldn’t.” Geralt's hand runs soothingly down Jaskier’s cheek and he brushes away a stray brown curl of hair, staring transfixed into the bard's eyes.

“How do you know I can control it? How are you so sure I won’t hurt you or anyone else for that matter?” and Jaskier can’t help the slight panic that has crept back into his voice, after all, it had been a strange few days.

“Because I’ve seen you control it, and because I know you are a good person, I know you don’t want to hurt people, so you won’t...I think this curse can only give you the tributes and features of the monsters, makes you appear like them, but it can’t turn you fully, each time there is still more human than foe in you.” Geralt’s eyes linger on Jaskier, urging him to believe him, doesn’t know much more he can say to convince him.

“Okay, I believe you, but I’ll be happier once we’ve found a mage who can explain in full what is going on,” he says. Both men nod and smile at each other before Geralt stands up and reaches for Jaskier’s hand. He helps to pull him up, and they walk back to a Roach who had wandered down the tracks a bit ahead of them. “Wow I can’t believe we got off on the ground in a well-used traveler's path” bursts Jaskier, laughing loudly at the look on Geralt's face. And he doesn’t miss the fond shake of the head or the small smile playing on his witcher's lips. 

“Come on, we best go find somewhere to wash off and camp for the night” he murmurs, looking at the setting sun on the horizon.

“And then tomorrow we find a mage?” Jaskier asks turning into step alongside Geralt. Letting his arm fall down and brush ever so gently against Geralt’s.

“Then tomorrow we find a mage.” Geralt responds, before taking hold of Jaskier’s hand and linking their fingers together.

* * *

  * Bonus creature Jaskier



Geralt rolls over, stretching his hand out to grasp Jaskier closer to him, but he doesn’t quite reach him. He turns his head up slightly and looks to the right of him, spotting Jaskier’s empty bedroll. At this, he open’s one amber eye as he grumbles out,

“What mythical creature are you today?” he says as he opens his eyes fully now, and a frown forms over his features as he takes in two sets of hooves standing just in line with his sight. _He could have sworn he left Roach tied to the trees just behind him._ _And when did Roach’s downy hair change colour to a lighter brown?_

“I am not going to lie Geralt, I am actually quite pleased with this one” comes Jaskier’s enthused response.

 _And that can’t be right, because that voice is coming from the direction of the hooves._ Geralt really comes awake now, as he looks up ever so slowly, taking in the horses sturdy, mottled fur brown legs. 

Lets his eyes wander further up, taking in the broad horses body, and looks transfixed in fascination as he notices the short-cropped brown hair, thin out into pale human skin, revealing a finely muscled chest _(that very much resembles Jaskiers, and Geralt would recognise those dark pink nipples anywhere)_ and gasps out loud as he looks up onto Jaskier’s face.

Jaskier is stood tall and proud above him, his head, shoulders, arms, hands, and chest are all still there, very much the same as before, but whereas he once had one set of legs, he now has four rather sturdy, hairy, brown ones. That also happens to be attached to a very obvious, very big _horse's body._

“Shit” is Geralt’s response.

“Ahh as eloquent as ever my dear Witcher. Come now, you must have something more positive to say? I for one, love it. Look I can keep pace with you and Roach now, I can strut and leap and gallop,” he takes a pause to breathe before continuing,

 _“...aaaaand_ I still have the use of my hands, so Galloping Lute Playing it is!” Jaskier all but cries out the last bit, rushes around the campsite on, _oh gods,_ four very loud and very expressive legs, _and how can a horse's legs be expressive you ask? The answer is they are attached to Jaskier, and so that explains everything._

And he picks up his lute, leaps over the log they had used to sit on last night and plucks at the strings. He immediately starts going into a chorus of “toss a coin to your witcher” but instead replaces the last word with “your barding centaur”. 

And Geralt just turns over and groans, scrubbing his hand, hard, over his face, wishing to replace the horrifying image of half-human, half-horse Jaskier.

_He doesn’t know how much more of this he can take._

* * *

  * Bonus Sandman!Jaskier,



This one comes into being when Geralt is in direct need of sleep, 

and after night falls, and Geralt is grunting and grumbling because he can’t get comfy on his bedroll, and it doesn’t matter that his eyes are closed, sleep does not appear to be coming,

Jaskier suddenly stands up and reaches into a brown satchel bag that has just appeared strung loosely over his shoulder, and he reaches into, grabs a handful of what's inside and starts to gently release it over Geralt’s eyes.

Geralt jerks and squints his eyes shut harder, and he exhales deeply before muttering through clenched teeth “Why Jaskier, are you pouring sand into my eyes!”

“Oh shit, is that what it is? I don’t know Geralt, you just looked like you couldn't sleep and something in me told me to reach inside this bag and release it onto to your face, specifically your eyes”, Jaskier frowns down at the man, waiting for his angry response,

“..hmm” is quietly heard, sounding more like a last puff of breath being let out. 

“Er Geralt?...Are..are you okay?” and Jaskier stares in shock as he notices the sand start to dissolve into Geralt’s skin, and watches as the deeply etched in frown on his witcher’s face start to recede. Sees the smooth dark purple circles under his skin disappear. 

_Huh,_ he thinks, _perhaps my ever-changing skin is good for one thing._

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry for the last two but I wanted a bit of crack in this fic too XD 
> 
> If you ever want to come chat to me on tumble about these two boys or anything Jaskier/Joey related,  
> please do- it's the same username as my A03 one and I'm super friendly and up for chats.
> 
> Ps. I apologise for the smut, I have not written smut before so it is not the best, but worry not for it only takes practice.
> 
> Pps. to those who are waiting on updates on my other two fics, they are coming, I just heh heh had to get this done first lol.
> 
> Comments and Kudos are much appreciated  
> Love to you all, you mad wonderful fandom


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